


Indulgence of Divinity

by Dream_Weaver63



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bits of fluff, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, God is tired of people's shit too, Heaven & Hell, I'll save you a seat, I'm Going to Hell, Medium Burn, Michael Langdon Deserves Love, Michael won, Not Actual Religious Depictions, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Rituals, The Sanctuary, World Rebuilding, satanists, soulmates?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26844925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Weaver63/pseuds/Dream_Weaver63
Summary: Four months after the events at Outpost 3, Michael begins to grow restless in the Sanctuary. His powers continue to grow seemingly without a purpose, and the Cooperative is clamoring to know his next move. Help arrives from an unlikely source that changes everything Michael thought he knew about being the Antichrist.Rebuilding the world requires a delicate balance-destruction and creation, death and life, dark and light. Thankfully, he doesn't have to do it alone.
Relationships: Michael Langdon & Miriam Mead, Michael Langdon/Original Character(s), Michael Langdon/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	1. Court of the Divinity

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome and thank you for your interest in my fic! I'm very excited to have Chapter 1 posted and look forward to adding chapter somewhat regularly. You can also find this fic on Tumblr @prophecy-is-inevitable, where I'll post updates, story inspirations, do writing requests, and general Michael Langdon reblogs. Hope you enjoy!

Water droplets traced the lean outlines along his torso and thighs while others collected in the hollow at the small of his back. The aqueous kisses briefly reminded him of caresses that yearned to memorize each dip and swell of a lover’s form. His eyes drifted closed as he tipped his head back, lips drawing apart to pass contented sighs, in an attempt to savor the sensation. How long it had been since it was more than an illusion… His head lulled with a deliberate slowness to feel the tension ebb and flow from the corded muscles across his shoulders, up the base of his skull, and down the center of his spine. A delicate floral note occasionally touched his senses that he couldn’t quite place as past or present, simply familiar; nonetheless, it momentarily quelled the chaotic swarm of thoughts plaguing his mind. Even kings deserved a reverie now and again. 

Michael’s gaze flitted about the room as he stood from the bathing pool and retrieved his towel hanging from the decorative iron gate. 

Flickering candles lined the stone alcoves and shelves carved centuries ago out of the grotto rock and filled the room with a serene luminance. Their reflections danced and swayed on the surface of the water only to writhe in the wake of his languid movements. The sheer array of burning wicks had produced a surprising warmth in the chamber--a warmth that drew memories from the rugged stone and imparted the scent of incense from pilgrimages long-forgotten into the air. A shrine to the Lord and his archangel Michael that once stood proudly at the front of the holy cavern had been reduced to nothing more than an opulent light fixture. It brought him a sense of satisfaction in no small measure, and a smug curl of his lips accompanied the thoughts of sacrilege.

‘How fitting that the Sanctuary of Saint Michael Archangel, his oldest shrine in Western Europe and a holy destination for centuries, would become the seat of power for the Antichrist of the same name. The Sanctuary of the Apocalypse,’ Michael mused while patting himself dry. The infernal heat thrumming through his veins made short work of any dampness left to his skin. The grotto he stood in had once been the location of a church. Since coming into the possession of the Cooperative, the pews had been removed to make room for a stepped recess to be carved into the floor and filled with water in the style of an ancient bath--an extension of his personal chambers. ‘Someone clearly thrives on irony.’ Of course, it was not to be lost on him and his smirk of satisfaction only grew as he pulled on the sleek black fabric of his pants.

The journey back to his rooms saw the return of Michael’s incessant thoughts of uncertainty. The existence of the Sanctuary had been somewhat of a surprise even to him. Then again, the best lies were always built from a foundation of truth. What had begun as a ruse to incite panic and chaos amongst survivors was apparently very much an actuality. An actuality that he had been living in for the last four months.

Outpost 3 had been the last for...liquidation. Once the task was completed, the Cooperative had sent him a communication informing him of an automated jet waiting to take him to a “safe place”. They didn't want to risk the use of Transmutation, despite his ever-growing powers. The flight was long and turbulent from the dramatic air currents and storms swirling in the wake of the cataclysm. A coastal mountain topped with a medieval structure loomed outside the window as the plane started to descend. The Sanctuary.

Noticeable architecture and the few remaining geographical features alluded to a location somewhere most likely Mediterranean. Michael’s lips stretched into an open-mouthed grin, and his eyes burned from how widely they were opened as he looked at the landscape of his making. Previously turquoise oceans undulated in new scarlet waves onto a gray shore. Bare branches strained against the raging wind--their leaves decimated long ago. Armageddon had truly come, and it was by his hand. Sure, he had seen first hand the result of his handiwork in America, but the satisfaction of seeing the effects clear across the world… Michael remembered the way his chest swelled and his shoulders straightened with pride.

That had been _four months ago_. Fucking hell... What great accomplishments had he achieved since those glorious days of revelation? Once again, he had been left to do his father’s will with no direction, no help of any kind. The remaining Cooperative members were breathing down his neck like hellhounds, either trying to curry favor with absurd and depraved behavior (which he may or may not have accepted on occasion) or hovering for a command. How could he lead his people when he had no means of navigating the future himself? Even the stars were silent behind the eternal midnight cinders cloaking the sky.

He dropped onto the lush mattress and draped his forearm over his eyes. In times of stress, Michael’s mind conjured up images of a world that no longer existed and perhaps never had. The sense of familiarity surrounded him once again as he stood amongst the tall pines and colorful oaks. He remembered these woods. Birds trilled happily above as if pleased by his return. His blood no longer marred the earth in a ruby pentagram; sprigs of white bell-shaped flowers sprung up from the circle and perfumed the air with their sweetness. They were larger than last time. Michael crouched to slowly reach out a hand, palm up, to cradle one of the drooping blossoms.

“Do you like them? I’ve been practicing.” A soft voice reached his ears just as the scalloped tepals dusted the tip of his middle finger. The uncertainty in the voice made his brow crease. He turned his head with a frown to face the shimmering specter, their radiance shrouding any distinguishable features aside from their feminine figure. She was always there, stood in the same space his frantic young mind had hallucinated an angel while begging for his father’s aid.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” It was much more a statement than a question. Had his own imagination turned against him, too? Was this a subconscious manifestation of his own doubt?

“White and delicate isn’t exactly your style,” the figure said. Her tone had relaxed a bit at the sound of his disappointment.

“Perhaps that’s all the more reason for me to like it. A palate cleanser to the world before my eyes every other minute of the day.” The flowers captured his attention again when they began to bob in the breeze. “Beautiful,” he breathed. He couldn’t see a smile, but he got the distinct _feeling_ of happiness from his companion. Curiously, his own heart beat a bit easier as the aura permeated his space. Michael straightened again to take in the full effect of the flowers and surround woods. 

“Something’s bothering you, Michael. You’re never here otherwise,” she mused. The light shifted as she moved to sit on a mossy rock. He titled his head to look at her without turning his body. Long strands of golden hair fell over his shoulder and framed his face in the sunlight. A shrug tugged at his shoulder as he spoke. 

“What comes next? Have I done all I was meant to do?”

“Is fire, blood, and chaos all you were born for?” A tight nod answered her question. “Doubtful.” She rose and stepped into the ring of flowers with him. The hair hanging in his face was pushed behind his ear by misty tendrils he perceived to be fingers. A slight chill tickled his cheek from the contact and caused the hair at the base of his neck to rise. “With each breath, you grow in strength and purpose.” One of the flower stems was placed in his hand. “Why do you think these have flourished? As you grow stronger, so do I. It would be pointless to give you more power with no purpose behind it, especially since you already hold more power than any being left in the world.” A dark chuckle bubble in his throat at that. Her words satisfied him when similar grovels from those in the Sanctuary would find his ire. 

“Then _why_ -” The presence of a frosted hand directing his gaze back towards the glowing woods stopped him short.

“Patience, Michael. Having power does not mean you have to be omniscient. It simply means you will be more than capable of whatever is required in time. You’ve given them what they wanted--there’s no reason to believe you would fail at that in the future.” Phantom fingers slid up his cheek and into his hair in a gesture of comfort and Michael closed his eyes with a sigh. “Patience, my king.”

The stone ceiling of his bedroom greeted him when he next opened his eyes. Goosebumps still prickled his skin as a reminder of his dream. For a few moments he did nothing but stare blankly, wondering if he could close his eyes again and return to the simplistic visions of his mind. 

“Patience...” he grumbled, dragging a hand down his high cheeks and chiseled jaw. Could the Antichrist possess such a heavenly virtue? Michael couldn’t remember any recent time he was met with less than near-instant gratification. Several soft yet pronounced raps on the door put an end to his wishful thoughts of mental escape. That would be Ms. Mead, and he certainly didn’t want to keep her waiting. It wouldn’t do to treat the one person here that was truly on his side so poorly, and certainly not after she’d undergone such extensive repairs from the events at Outpost 3.

A rare, genuine smile graced his full lips when he pulled the door open to reveal the woman. The deep furrow of her brow and the shift of her eyes promptly removed the carefree expression from his face.

"You're needed in the great hall." The muscles around Michael's eyes twitched in scrutiny. Only incredibly important or special occasions called for the use of the great hall, and he certainly hadn’t issued any grandiose decrees. She wasn't pleased to be ignorant about whatever situation had arisen, either. 

“I will be with you shortly once I’ve made myself presentable.” Michael acknowledged her request with an elegant incline of his head. Ms. Mead nodded quickly and turned on her heel to await him outside his chambers. 

Michael quite enjoyed catering his looks to maximize the effect of his presence. Without knowing the purpose of this engagement, he would have to work with what previously resulted in the most success. Within three minutes, he was walking through the halls with Ms. Mead and rather pleased with his appearance. He had donned his usual black dress pants and tucked button-up, the buttons of the cuffs trailing well up his forearms. A luxurious black side button dress coat accentuated his broad shoulders and lean stature; Michael enjoyed the feeling of the fabric conforming so perfectly to his body.

Many survivors admired the thought that went into the Sanctuary’s design each time they walked the halls. Displays had been embedded into the mountain walls where the builders encountered the fossilized remains of prehistoric flora and fauna--lingering reminders that all origins were followed by the same undisputable end in time. Rivers of fire ran down trenches parallel to the walkways for sufficient lighting. Without access to the outside world, they set the fire to cycle intensity and mimic the path of the sun. At night, minerals were added to the oil to make the fire burn blue in homage to moonlight. Large fireplaces dotted the hallways for added warmth and light in the deeper parts of the mountain.

Today, residents of the Sanctuary that had found themselves a partner were happily clinging to each other in alcoves or corners. Some exchanged gifts they’d either made or traded for tied with red ribbon. Someone had poorly scribbled hearts decorating their package, and Michael’s eyebrows jumped momentarily in realization. Of course. It was February. Many of the survivors had chosen to observe the old holidays in a vain attempt at normalcy. If it gave them reason to remain happy and kept morale high, then he would allow them to cling to their absurd traditions. They smiled and waved, some bowing their heads in respect, as he passed them. An occasional brave soul wandered his way with the intention of handing him chocolates or paper flowers. Michael held up his hand to stop them with a small, appreciative quirk of his lips but shook his head.

“There’s no need for that. Your loyalty and support are enough.” They held eye contact for a moment until the person scampered away to a cluster of others standing by a fire pit. Almost immediately, Michael’s jaw squared and returned his expression to simmering annoyance.

“Ms. Mead,” he drawled, “why am I on my way to the great hall for an obligation that I can’t seem to recall arranging?” Her head shaking slightly was barely visible off to his side.

“This wasn’t arranged at all. These...people--Court of the Divinity they called themselves--just showed up and wanted to see you. Wouldn’t say what for, but I recognized the man in charge as a member of the Cooperative. Some high ranking clergyman or some bullshit.” Ms. Mead continued to shake her head and gave him a sidelong glance. “I don’t know where they get off thinking they can make such demands of their king. It’s impertinent if you ask me.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratory level. “We shouldn’t trust them.” Michael’s head tipped back with a pleased laugh.

"Oh, not to worry, Ms. Mead. We must attend to the needs of our people." Michael stopped outside of the oversized mahogany doors and turned to the older woman. His hands came to rest on her shoulders as he fixed her with a pointed gaze. "And if they waste my time, it will be the last time that they do so." Ms. Mead returned his look with a smile and watery eyes, one of her hands reaching out to delicately stroke the long curls resting over his collarbone before she replied. The pride rolled off of her in waves nearly as strong as the electronic pulses of her fabrication.

“That’s my beautiful boy.” Michael would always hold her affection in highest regard. With a deep breath, Ms. Mead returned to the moment and smoothed down his hair. “You go in ahead. I’ll retrieve your guests from the auxiliary hall. My king.” She left with a bow and beaming smile so Michael could take his rightful place in the extravagant throne chair at the front of the hall. He certainly cut an imposing figure. One leg rested crossed over the knee of the other, his elbows firmly on the arm rests to allow his steepled fingers to remain steady in front of his chest, and his jaw clenched with a minute grinding the longer he waited.

Several minutes passed before the heavy doors were opened and Ms. Mead, now wielding a stern expression, led in a bizarre group of men. Michael couldn’t help leaning forward a fraction in interest. Each man was dressed in different holy garb. A Buddhist lama, a Hindu sadhu, a Jewish rabbi. Those were only the ones in clear view. Still more troubling, not one of them did he recognize beyond the cardinal standing at their front. He had worked as the Cooperative’s source inside the Vatican for decades under the guise of a faithful God-worshipper. Michael lifted his chin out of habit at the man’s approach, heightened even more as the small congregation bowed before his dais. 

“Cardinal Vicente Santori.” The name dripped off Michael’s tongue like saccharine wine. “To what do I owe the _unexpected_ pleasure of your audience? For your sake, I would hope it’s something of the absolute utmost importance.” The cardinal bowed again. The tone in their king’s voice left no conflict regarding his displeasure.

“My king, as you know, we are more than 20 months through your prophesied reign,” Santori began. Michael’s intrigued gaze turned to that of ice, and he brought his chin to rest on his bejewelled fist.

“I am aware. So...what is this?” He opened his palm up towards them inviting silent answers. “As you said yourself, we are beyond the halfway point of the Apocalypse. It’s a bit late for any religious intervention.” Michael’s patronizing chuckle reverberated in the vaulted room, “Especially from you, Cardinal.” The man quickly shook his hands to brush away those notions.

“No. No, we are here for quite the opposite.” The slight tilt of the king’s head drew the cardinal’s attention before he continued. “You have done well in cleansing the stain of humanity from the world. You’ve also grown stronger since coming to the Sanctuary, haven’t you, my king?” When he did not receive a denial, Santori delved into further explanation. “We are the Court of the Divinity, tasked with a special purpose. We have the answers to that phenomenon: there is still more work to be done. Work that you cannot be expected to complete on your own. What we have experienced is only the beginning of your father’s great plan. Preparation of a canvas about to become your greatest masterpiece.”

“What would you know of this ‘work to be done’?” His father had refused to answer his own questions, yet these heretics claimed to have knowledge of _his_ purpose? All Michael had ever wanted was answers. Would it be washed-up clerics that gave them to him? Michael ran his tongue over his teeth. The most irritating aspect of it all was that not a single one of them held a lie within their heart or mind. 

“Satan was cast into the fire and chained amidst the burning lake against his will. Would you wish to remain in a prison for all eternity? Is that what you would base your greatest wish from? It is one thing to condemn others to share your fate, but it’s something else to rise above it. There has always been a deeper longing for Paradise, and what better way to secure his claim on Earth than by his son creating something that surpasses that of God. However, you will not succumb to such hubris as God, my king, for you won’t be alone.” There was a pause in the cardinal’s ramblings to let the information settle. Silence hung heavy in the air for so long that some of the men began to shift uncomfortably. Even Ms. Mead seemed to be holding her breath off to Michael’s side.

Their king stood, each vertebra aligning themselves one by one, until he reached his full height. His descent from the dais was marked by the crisp, measured knocking of his heeled shoes on the stone floor. Arms clasped elegantly behind his back, Michael approached the cardinal and looked him up and down. The older man was in his choir dress for what he must have deemed a special occasion; vibrant scarlet cassock with matching scarlet trim, red elbow-length cape over the lace-trimmed white rochet, and a red cleric’s skullcap. One item was notably missing; Cardinal Santori no longer burdened himself with the symbol of the cross. Michael stopped directly in front of the man to give him a sardonic smile.

“Will it be you, Cardinal, and your men that seek to help me with this task of surpassing God? The one you once promised to worship and honor with every breath and whom you have now forsaken?” They were so easily swayed by a little show of power. Michael had won their faith by hardly lifting a finger. The cardinal stepped aside and issued a beckoning wave back to the others. The group parted, three men on either side, to form a passage for the remaining associate at the back of their cluster.

“Unfortunately, the act of creation has always been a divine gift. We have never been blessed in such a way, though we have been given the honor of upbringing for the one who has. Our glorious purpose.” Soft heels clicked across the thin carpet runner approaching the dais. “God failed because there was no balance, which he now knows. There cannot be creation without destruction, no life without death, no light without the dark. To force one into extinction is to condemn the other. Someone once called you ‘the Alpha and the Omega,’ correct? Well, they were halfway right.” A slim hand settled into the one the cardinal left outstretched. 

“My king.” Michael’s eyes quickly darted to the speaker when they stepped into his view, dipping into a low curtsey. 

She was his opposite in every way. Delicate feminine features and form contrasted his strong, masculine bone structure and build. Her lustrous amber eyes met his aquamarine, and both pairs widened at the sudden jolt they received. Fire and ice. Twisting. Turning. Climbing from earth to sky. Something about her called to him. Something quietly familiar. Michael stepped forward with a creased brow while she allowed him to continue his observation. He swept a wave of her silken obsidian hair over her shoulder. Her breath shuddered momentarily, but her smile widened when their gaze met again. She waited patiently, allowing him as much time as he needed. After all, she had been patient long enough in waiting to meet him, and this gave her an equal opportunity to drink him in as well. His skin held the warmth of the fire he was born from in both color and temperature. She, on the other hand, seemed to be risen from the first winter snow. Could it be true that he wouldn’t be left to rebuild the world alone? Their proximity caused a breeze to weave through the room that centered around them. Years of waiting and begging and training...would this be the beginning of their purpose?

Clothed in flowing white, the crystalline vine embellishments captured the firelight to give her a glowing illusion. Chiffon draped from her shoulder straps and down her back in a delicate cape veil that did nothing to obscure the expense of her open back. More of the gentle fabric was braided across her chest to protect her dignity. A large portion of the bodice remained sheer except for more sparkling embellishments designed in the same intricate vine pattern. In place of a slit, the sheer fabric continued from the bodice, over her left hip, and down the entire left side of the otherwise modest, floor length skirt. It was a look meant to make an impression while still conveying the purity within her body and blood. Sensual yet sinless. She wanted him to be pleased, to be intrigued. And he certainly was in both respects. Cardinal Santori’s voice broke through Michael’s considerations.

“This… is the Divinity.”


	2. The Demonstration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being presented with a young woman known by few simply as the Divinity, Michael begins to feel conflicted. On one hand, this could be the answer he's been looking for. On the other, perhaps it's nothing but a ploy. It's time for her to prove the abilities the court claims she possesses--with a little demonstration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 2! There's a lot more interaction and we get to learn a little bit more about the Divinity. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading!

_"This...is the Divinity.”_

Michael’s steel gaze shifted to Cardinal Santori when the man's hands perched on the young woman’s shoulders. The warm aura around her dissipated just enough to catch Michael’s attention, and it made the fine hair at the base of his neck tingle. There were multitudes of questions he wanted--no, _needed_ \--answered. The existence of this court, of this woman, had never been knowledge he was made privy to. Un-fucking-acceptable.

She could feel his irritation like cactus thorns stinging against her skin in the strong exhale of his nose. His presence was a force of nature, thrumming with pent-up energy akin to a thunderous storm about to release torrents of lightning. It made her pulse charge through her body from inhaling the scent of him mere inches away. Wildfire, sun-warmed balsam, and a hint of clove. Of course there had to be a nuance of spice to lull and entice the senses. She’d known he was beautiful, but that word seemed weak in comparison to the man standing there. Every feature, every detail, was designed to be the epitome of perfection, right down to the flourish of red shading the inner corners of his eyes. 

‘Very nice, Satan,’ she praised internally. ‘No one ever stood a chance.’ The heavy silence only seemed to agitate the king further. He clasped his hands tighter behind his back, which caused his shoulders to tense and pull the jacket taut across his chest.

“Divinity, hmm? Perhaps a bit precise of a name.” Simple inquiries would suffice to begin with, Michael decided. The woman smiled sadly and parted her lips to speak only to have the cardinal squeeze her shoulders and promptly begin speaking over her. Michael continued to watch her demeanor, the way she swallowed her words and bit the inside of her cheek. Her thoughts were mute, though Michael remembered experiencing a similar feeling when the satanists used to parade him about their chapel. She was being corralled like a prize mare and oh, how she hated it.

“Oh no, sire. Divinity is more of a title than a name,” Santori chuckled. “We’ve left that honor for you.” At that, Michael found himself staring, the quick jolt of his brow the only sign of his surprise. The other men in tow buzzed in quiet excitement. It seemed this was quite the anticipated moment. Michael's eyes narrowed with the slightest tilt of his head.

She didn’t have a name… It struck a chord deep within his chest--like thread tugging his stomach up through his throat. He had been dubbed a monster not worthy of love by everyone in his childhood, and even he had a name--an identity--before this. Her presence grew cold, distant, as she receded into the background of the cardinal. Michael’s pursed lips fell into a frown. The gentle pulsating warmth she had emitted before was much preferable; the familiarity of it brought him comfort. Gingerly, he cupped her chin in the curve between his thumb and index finger to direct her eyes upward. His large grasp dwarfed her delicate features. Pins and needles spiraled from his fingers, up his arm, and through the rest of his body. Her eyes widened, a grin creasing the corners, at the feeling of their powers mingling for the first time. It forced the cardinal at her back to stumble away, his hands leaving her shoulders. Delight settled over Michael like a warm blanket, though it didn’t seep within his bones as he imagined it did for others. A singular amused hum rumbled low in his throat.

“Ah, I see. A talent for projecting emotions upon others.” Cardinal Santori saw this as his chance to return to their king’s limelight.

“Yes! Precisely--”

“When I am addressing you,” Michael interrupted forcefully and slowly, each word enunciated with dagger precision, “you will know.” His eyebrows rose slightly in question to make sure his meaning was clear. Santori swallowed thickly and stepped back to rejoin the rest of the court. Michael found that he much preferred the soft, soothing refrain of the woman’s voice.

“I would imagine that skill could be quite influential on those with less power than the son of Satan.” There was still something familiar about the presence washing over him. “Have we met before?” Michael asked, standing at her side to speak directly to her and not the startled cardinal, who seemed to act as more of a handler than an advocate.

“Unfortunately not, my king.” The steady curve of her orchid pink lips grew. “I wanted to be there when you first addressed the Cooperative with the plans for the Apocalypse and the outposts, but I was advised against it. Cardinal Santori went in my stead.” 

“We felt that it would be unwise to reveal her presence, which you surely would have noticed, when you had more pressing matters at hand. She had too much work to continue here.” Michael’s eyes rolled back slightly at the uninvited sound of the cardinal’s voice. It reminded him of heavy metal being dragged harshly across a stone floor. Michael could feel the black clouding out the azure irises he usually possessed. He opened his eyes to see the woman shielding an arm in front of the other man.

“Forgive him, please. This moment is many years in the making for us all, and the excitement must be getting away with us.” They’d taught her diplomacy for a reason, and she intended to show she had more use than as some pet to be named or for silly magic tricks. It caused Michael to consider her words, the blue hue returning to his eyes. “I hear the meeting was a wonderful success. They said you commanded the room, figuratively and literally. I would have loved to see it.” It was true. Santori came back from the meeting beside himself with excitement, stammering about the Antichrist’s power and their future plans, and it thrilled her to hear of the progress being made. Their young future king had made quite an impression.

“How do I know that you are what you claim to be? Surely you don’t believe I’ll simply take your word for it.” Michael narrowed his eyes and looked her over once more. Of course her melodic comments fueled the prideful fire inside of him. It had been a clever change of subject on her part, but there were more important matters at hand that he could not afford to be distracted from.

“Of course not. You’re far too intelligent to take our words at face value.” She clasped her hands politely in front of her and offered that same subtle smile. “You are familiar with the signs that presented as you came into your power, yes?” She waited for his nod of affirmation before continuing. “The very same happened where I was. Crows and drastic temperature. Instead of an increase of temperature, they experienced a dramatic drop. You were told a portion of the convent nearly froze?” Her question was directed over her shoulder as she twisted to speak to her cardinal. He nodded, clearly uncomfortable without the opportunity to explain for himself. “Oh!” she exclaimed as she turned back to face the king. “I was also born with this.”

Michael’s body shifted with serpentine ease at her indication to the area behind her left ear. She held the hair away from her skin to provide him with an adequate view. The skin was welted and scarred in a brand similar to the mark resting behind his right ear, but the shape was all wrong. This resembled a rudimentary outline of a bird, wings spread and flying as if to land on her shoulder. The pad of his finger swirled around the outside of the symbol in interest. Michael retreated when he began to feel an uncomfortable scorching sensation. So not a simple prosthetic, then. She could see out of the corner of her eye how he leaned his head against his shoulder while he thought. 

“If you would allow, Cardinal Santori could explain further.” It was a dance between his authority and her grooming. Granting him the ultimate decision would hopefully appease his sense of control. It would, again hopefully, be the first of many beneficial compromises. Her wish was granted when he cast her a nod of acquiescence. She didn’t need to recall the cardinal to her side, for he was there almost instantly. Flutters of conversation resumed from the lingering members of the court.

“Thank you, my king. If you would take another look.” Santori's hand swept into her hair and held it away once again. Michael would have missed the flash of annoyance in her honey eyes if he hadn’t anticipated it. “Notice the bird’s shape and the direction. This is called the descending dove. It’s one of the many holy symbols much like the cross or the ichthys.” The tone of Cardinal Santori’s voice betrayed his calm exterior. The man was beyond excitement to explain his miraculous find. “Now, taking into consideration the triangular shape of your mark, one could say it also resembles the symbol for Alpha. Likewise, taking into account the shape of the bird she bears, the wings and the majority of the body above, there lies the complimentary symbol for Omega.” 

Michael’s weight shifted when he rocked back on his heels. Still no hint of a lie had been presented. As much as he was growing tired of the cardinal, the words tumbling forth did seem to form a cohesive explanation. Her power felt different than that of his previous enemy witches. It was a power with radiant tendrils that reached out to his darkness, coaxed it forward, to crackle in the space around them. Trust me. Come to me. And his unholy spirit answered in kind. 

“Is that all?” His eyebrows rose in expectation, his lips pressed into a thin line of boredom, when no further words were offered. A perfect mask of indifference to shield the confusion and conflict, and perhaps a bit of hope, swirling behind. “This proves nothing except your ability to craft quite the story.” Michael’s heels echoed around the room as he circled the precious creature they’d presented to him. “Your other form. Can you display it?” She nodded, but quickly followed by declining to do so.

“Mortals cannot accept such a vision, and I’d very much like my court to retain all of their senses. If that is something you truly wish to see then I promise to fulfil your request at another time.” 

The refusal didn’t sit well with him. She watched the muscles of his jaw clench. His chest rose with the deep inhale needed to retain his tethered composure. Full lips curled into a dark, self-assured smirk when the answer came to him. Immediately, she swallowed in anticipation of whatever game he’d concocted.

“Why not a demonstration, then? If she is truly meant to act as my equal, then the power she possesses should rival what she’s meant to balance.” Michael’s smirk only grew when he met her widened gaze. “Perform for me the Seven Wonders, _little dove_.”

His expression made his request seem as inconsequential as if simply proposing to go for a walk. Rather pleased with himself, he settled back in his throne, legs parted and elbow on the arm rest, while he idly waited to be entertained. Her companions, on the other hand, quickly seemed to take offence. She silenced them with a simple rise of her hand. Much like his address to the Cooperative, this was her chance to make an impression on the one that would make her purpose a reality. Right now, she was not doing well. For the time being, she would ignore the thrill of his patronizing pet name. At least he’d stopped speaking as if she wasn’t standing mere inches from him.

“I would be more than happy to perform the first six tasks for you; however, I am not able to complete Descensum. Due to my...parentage, once I set foot in Hell, I wouldn’t be allowed to leave. Without your protection, it’s a death sentence. After a game of cat and mouse, the cat doesn’t let the mouse just walk away.” That clearly came off as a simple excuse. His head fell back with a dull thud against the velvet backrest of his throne. “There is something else that I would like to demonstrate that might please you, my king..”

Michael waved his hand with a dismissive flourish for her to proceed. Flashing a beaming grin, she turned to rejoin the men she entered with and retrieved a large drawstring bag from a man that appeared to be a High Priest of one of the Pagan religions. Her eyes sparkled at the prospect of working her magic and convincing him, and herself, of her worth. Finally! This had to work. She had no other options.

“As you’ve heard, my primary function will be to aid you in the rebuilding of the outside world. Right now, that is accomplished through the use of my inherent gifts, much as you have used yours to deliver us at this point.” She dropped to her knees at the base of his dais as she spoke, making sure he would not miss a moment of the demonstration he required. The contents of the bag tumbled to the floor. Clay. Her eyes found him from under her lashes. “I’ve been practicing.”

 _I’ve been practicing_.

The words from the previous night’s dream echoed in his ears. His body bolted upright at the familiar declaration. Shoulders squared, back straight, and eyes narrowed, his entire being was on edge. Slim fingers gathered the red earth before her while her lips moved in words that Michael couldn’t understand. The same man that had bequeathed the bag stepped forward and bowed with an alabaster knife extended to her. Ms. Mead made to intervene at the appearance of a threat, but Michael lightly shook his head. He had performed his own rituals enough to know the blade was meant only for its wielder. Michael leaned closer, both elbows dug into the plush arm rests to urge him forward, and took a breath through parted lips.

“Begin.”

A soft hiss issued from her lips when the blade broke the skin of her palm and ruby beads welled up from the cut. A white glow clouded her pupils. Hand outstretched, she began to drip her lifeblood over the clay amidst her chants. The substance roiled with the addition, and an incandescent mist swirled into a construct. A breeze made the candles and fires flicker and then extinguish around the room. The luminance of the magic at work provided more than enough light to witness the feat, so much so that Michael had to squint against it in his determination to see every aspect taking place. Bones formed from the rich earth, muscle and organ climbed around the skeleton behind the blanket of fog, and the gifted blood settled over the animal to encase it in hide and hair. The vanquished flames returned at the bleating of the adult doe standing in place of the clay.

Life...from nothing? Michael would have said it was impossible if he hadn’t seen it himself. The deer nudged its creator as she panted heavily on the floor. He placed a hand on the animal to stroke the coarse fur. It was real. Solid and breathing as if it had just wandered out of a forest. He looked over at Ms. Mead to see her eyes wide and dark painted mouth formed into a wondrous ‘o’. His attention turned to the woman at his immaculately polished shoes. Michael crouched down and reached for her hand to inspect her palm; not a trace of injury remained. His fingertips gently stroked the unblemished skin before he lifted her by an elbow, grasping the other when she seemed unsteady, to raise her back to full height. A slight trickle of blood ran from her nose to the cusp of her upper lip.

“I’m impressed,” he admitted smoothly, using a corner of his long sleeve to remove the blood from her cupid’s bow. The sight was nearly jarring--an encounter of fresh blood upon pristine snow. “Witches can restore a body to life, but even they can’t create a form and fill it with a soul.” Clearly she was more than a mere witch. Try as he might, Michael couldn’t demolish the foundations of hope building within him. He didn’t want to. The answers that he had patiently been awaiting had arrived. There was finally the promise of a future.

“Thank you, my king.” The color in her eyes had dimmed slightly from the exertion, though her satisfied smirk only grew at his words. She’d passed. The first trial of her skill, the first test of her worth for her king, and she had passed! “There is still more for me to learn, for us both to learn, and our abilities will only grow as we continue to work in tandem.” 

Joyous celebration rose from the court behind the pair. She turned to deliver a smile of gratitude to the men that had tutored and cared for her most of her life. There was still a long journey ahead of them, but at least they had a direction and no longer wandered aimlessly through time. Her relief was interrupted by Cardinal Santori trying to move forward far too quickly, trying to tell the king what needed to be done next.

“Cardinal, I think we’ve taken up enough of our king’s time. He was kind enough to allow us this meeting without adequate notice. We’ll take our leave now and let him return to his busy schedule.” The man’s mouth opened and closed, but she simply stared him down until he resigned himself to silence. She nodded for the doors and sighed in ease as the seven men made for the exit. The last thing they needed was to overstep or overwhelm the king with more demands and information. He needed time to process, and he needed time to develop somewhat of a trust. Most likely, the only way to achieve that was to remove the puppet strings her court believed to hold over her. They needed genuine interactions not controlled or monitored by those seeking to use their power immediately.

“My king.” She bowed to thank him once more for the magnanimity he had shown them. The court was far enough away, but she spoke her next words softly while petting the doe obediently waiting at her side. “If you have the time, I would be honored if you could join me for dinner this evening.” She turned to smile at the older woman, her face once again stern and protective as she stepped to her king’s side. “Ms. Mead as well. I’m sure that you both have questions--concerns--and I believe the conversation will be more forthcoming with less company.” Michael smirked and glanced over her to see her court waiting near the doors. 

“Very well.” Though their exchanges today had been brief, he could feel the desire she held to speak freely outside of their shackles. He was intrigued to see what discussion could be had between them.

“Wonderful! Thank you, my king. I will meet you both in front of the hall this evening and show you to our rooms.” She bowed low again before taking her leave, the hooves of the deer clicking against the stone beside her as they proceeded down the hall. She refused to look back and purposefully ignored the nagging feeling of eyes following her exit.

Ms. Mead observed quietly, still astounded by what had taken place. Their day had started very, very differently than anticipated. She glanced up at Michael before watching the court and their Divinity disappear from view. Ms. Mead’s gaze lingered on the entrance as she asked for her king’s thoughts.

“Do you think she knows how to make goats?”


	3. Into the Sanctum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Ms. Mead follow the Divinity deep below the Sanctuary proper after accepting a dinner invitation. The court's private rooms are unremarkable--with one enormous exception. The woman and Michael reach an understanding of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for continuing to follow this story! Events will most likely move a bit quicker after this chapter, so stay tuned!

_“If you have the time, I would be honored if you could join me for dinner this evening.” She turned to smile at the older woman, her face once again stern and protective as she stepped to her king’s side. “Ms. Mead as well..."_

Evening had descended throughout the halls, artificial though it may have been, when Michael and Ms. Mead found themselves in the presence of the “Divinity” once again. Head held high and hands clasped daintily in front of her, she moved with a grace and fluidity unexpected for someone that had been restricted from the rest of the Sanctuary. Once again, she was clothed in delicate white. It was much simpler than before; Michael caught himself musing on the swaths of white linen wrapping over her shoulder, around her waist, sweeping around, and the forest green cords crisscrossing over her abdomen. Quite the contrast to his elegant all-black ensemble of fitted pants, knee-high boots, and satin black dinner jacket with red velvet lapels and Ms. Mead’s usual onyx authoritarian pantsuit.

Murmurs followed in the wake of the trio. Sometimes she would cast the residents a polite smile and a nod that sent them off kilter. Who the hell was this bitch waltzing around like she owned the place? And wearing white in the presence of the Antichrist? How pretentious! Clearly, Michael hadn’t been the only one unaware of her existence within the Sanctuary. Again, the remarks were met with the gentle bowing of her lips and a knowing glance. The air around her simmered with restrained reprisal, something lurking just beneath the serene exterior. No wonder she’d been cordoned off from the others. She couldn’t help wondering if their treatment of her would be as callous had they been made aware of her purpose from the beginning. In hindsight, she would have taken the risk if it meant a chance for true socialization. Each couple or group they passed celebrating the holiday of love with lustful acts filled her throat with a suffocatingly bitter sensation.

Their strides carried them through the towering mahogany stacks of the library. Anything salvaged before the bombs fell was stored within the large interconnecting chambers and provided with the proper care and protection to ensure their survival. Whether it was for educational, historical, cultural, or entertainment, all texts deemed valuable in any fashion rested here for survivors to pluck and peruse. Glistening spines of newer volumes winked from the shelves in the candlelight and then faded from view as the three ventured further. The air grew thick with the musty organic smell of the immemorial collections. Tomes and documents of the most importance were sealed and accessible only with supervision for those that had received the lead historian’s permission.

A large relief carved into the farthest wall depicted a massive tree bearing various fruits. The sculpture was polished and otherwise devoid of embellishment with the exception of two areas. Each fruit depicted was inlaid with gems of their respective color. The focal point, however, was the great serpent woven through the branches and entwined around the thick trunk. Scales of ammolite covered the body in dark iridescence. Candle and firelight refracted within the individual shards to bring life to the inanimate; every flicker of flame gave breath to the creature and the illusion of the rigid body ever-winding around its arborescent host. A golden crown rested atop the serpent’s head and a gleaming cinnabar heart within the fangs poured red water into a fountain below the tree’s carved roots.

Michael watched as their guide reached forward to situate a circular ruby into the hollow depression of the serpent’s eye. The fountain ceased its flow momentarily, the sound of water diverting behind the wall, and propelled hidden mechanisms. One of the dark wood shelves retracted into the floor to reveal a staircase that descended further still into the depths of the Sanctuary. Flames ignited in the channels lining the stairs to provide light when the first footfalls landed on the top stair.

“I apologize for the theatrics. The court was adamant that our chambers not be something a resident could simply stumble upon,” the younger woman explained as she retrieved the red gem she had placed in the sculpture. The bookshelf returned to its original position after Ms. Mead passed through the threshold. Michael heard the patter of her steps quicken just a fraction to stand nearer, and he turned to offer her a slight nod of reassurance. He would never let harm befall her ever again.

The steps carried them deeper into the mountain and below the main construction. Portions of the walls next to the stairs had long been eroded, giving way to caverns of mineral pools and natural ornamentation of calcite draperies, flowstone, stalactites, and other formations. Michael found his eyes greedily drinking in the splendor that he hadn’t known lurked beneath feet since the very beginning. His preoccupation with ending the world had left little time for him to explore and appreciate the wonders below the surface.

“These caverns and passages have been here longer than any human construction above ground. It was part of what made it the perfect place to house the vestiges of humanity. Half of the work to create a habitable city had been done ages ago by nature. Of course, it needed some refinement and polishing to reach the exceptionally high standards of the world’s remaining elite. I preferred for our area to remain more natural.” Her fingers danced over the rough-hewn wall when it reappeared beside them.

A landing appeared around a slight curve illuminated with an inordinate amount of light. The air grew warmer with each step towards the rays streaming through the doorway until they reached the crest of another staircase. The sigh of annoyance was barely restrained when it passed Michael’s lips. The invitation had been one for dinner, not a hike into the bowels of the mountain. When they passed through the doorway, the gentle scuffling of his boots on the floor came to an abrupt halt and nearly caused Ms. Mead to walk directly into his frozen form.

Sensing that her charges were no longer at her heels, the woman turned and observed the slackened jaws and wide, darting eyes of the pair for whom she was quickly developing a fondness. There was almost a reverence to their expressions, and it filled her with gratitude and satisfaction. It showed on the widening smirk gracing her tranquil features. She was happy to let them admire her work for as long as they liked.

The tunnel opened up into a room of immeasurable size, and the elevation of the stairs provided an excellent vantage point. No palace ballroom, no exquisite cathedral, came to mind as an equal comparison. Even the Orangery of Versailles fell dismally short of the grandeur and expanse of the sanctum before their eyes. Towering column reliefs patterned the chiseled walls, and natural springs had been converted to focal water features that bled across the floor--the earth and soil--below in creeks and streams. The rest of the walls were tiled up to the vaulted ceiling in square, mercury glass mirrors. The reflections blurred the reality of a boundary existing within the room and added to the enormity of the space. Climbing vines of greenery and clustered purple flowers rooted into some cracks and crevices and dangled from the ceiling. An ornamental sculpture of a compass had been carved out of the domed ceiling and indicated the cardinal points.

Despite the low symphony of sounds and sights, their eyes were drawn to the burning orb casting light around the room as it sank towards a pond at the western edge. Ms. Mead was the first one to ask what they were both wondering. Almost.

“Is that…?”

“An affectionate imitation of it, yes. It’s hard to compress such a force to fit in this space, but it helps simulate natural growth cycles and circadian rhythms. I’ve been working more within biomes, and it’s helped with determining what areas of the sanctum can maintain which regions.” The younger woman tilted her head and extended a hand to indicate down the stairs. "I'd be happy to show you more if you'd like."

They reached ground level, below the oak and pine boughs, below the rainforest canopy, at the same moment a pale gray sphere rose from a small pool at the eastern wall. She grinned at the appearance of the lunar resonance and stopped next to the water.

“Perfect timing; I’m glad it rose early enough for you to see. The moon was much easier to create. I’ve been banned from creating fire, at least for the time being,” she turned with a slender finger pointed at Michael, “since that’s your job.” She was certainly looking forward to her restraints coming off now that they had been introduced and would soon be testing their abilities together. It was going to be spectacular if the atmospheric tension crackling between them was anything to go by.

Michael wasn’t quite sure what to make of things. For the moment, it was easy to believe that they were no longer underground. Trees stretched above their heads, branches curving around the pathways in verdant embrace, and birds and other small animals flitted along in interest. All of this...had been destroyed by the bombs and nuclear winter, yet here it was in an impossible place miles beneath a mountain. He craned his neck and nearly danced as he spun and twisted to view as much as possible, and he noticed the shifts in flora and fauna the farther their journey took them.

“Gargano used to be the last remaining area of ancient oak and beech forests left in Europe. Many of those trees here are from acorns and beech nuts I was able to salvage when we first came here years ago. It seemed a shame to lose something so beautiful because of the failure of humans.” She gingerly plucked an acorn from the ground and cradled Michael’s palm in her own to deposit the seed in his hand. Her hands gently closed his fingers around her, her fingertips trailing over his hand lightly when she pulled away.

“Repeat after me. ‘Cum mea vita, et vos vivetis.’” Michael did as she bade him and repeated the words softly. They echoed one another as they continued the chant, breath ghosting over each other’s cheeks when she stepped closer and covered his hand once more, and their gazes locked. Spindly roots wrapped around his wrist, snaked through his fingers, and a stem rose through the gap between. “With my life, you will live,” she finished, stepping away to let him observe his work.

Michael’s hand holding the seedling remained outstretched before him. Roots continued to curl along his skin as the stem grew further until two fragile leaves unfurled. Michael stared, eyes wide and glassy, at the vulnerable greenery in his grasp.

“How is this possible?” His voice was soft and bewildered. He’d burned away the souls of others with those very same hands. How could they also bring prosperity?

“While your powers may be unholy, their origin is still heavenly. Your father used to be the most favored of all angels, remember? He was never stripped of his power; it simply corrupted to fit the purposes he needed. All it needs is a little push to remember what it’s truly capable of doing.” She bent and scooped a small hole in the earth beside them. “Ms. Mead, would you mind carefully extracting that seedling and helping me plant it here?”

Ms. Mead looked to Michael for direction. There was a glimmer in her eyes that closely resembled fear. Was their plan to awaken the divine side of Michael’s powers and forsake their master? Would he forsake  _ her _ ? She swallowed thickly and glanced down at the woman kneeling in the dirt. Her Michael had done such wonderful things before, but never anything like this woman had enabled him. More than likely they had only just scratched the surface. Perhaps against her better judgement, Ms. Mead dismissed the doubts and began unwinding the delicate roots from around Michael’s fingers. The smile on his face was one she hadn’t seen in quite some time--one of excitement and delight, and for some reason it called to mind the warm smell of french toast. His eyes were sparkling with newly rekindled purpose.

Once the roots were free of Michael’s jeweled fingers, Ms. Mead stooped to place the seedling in its new home in the rich soil. The younger woman placed a clean hand gently, reassuringly, on Ms. Mead’s upper back until it was time to pack the earth to support the delicate sprout. Very briefly, the women’s hands both covered the dirt and they exchanged a small smile.

“Perfect. Thank you, Ms. Mead,” the younger of the two sighed contentedly. It was important to Michael that Ms. Mead felt included in his endeavors, and he extended his hands to help both women stand. He appreciated this stranger’s consideration where others would usually overlook his maternal figure. “You’re both welcome to visit the sanctum whenever you’d like, but I must ask that you refrain from bringing other guests. It’s better for them to think that their food comes from hydroponics and ingenious animal husbandry than...here.”

It felt like hours passed while they explored the eden. Woodland forests turned to lush foliage and bright flowers with humid air, arid sands grew resilient plants and faded to open water at one end while grasslands turned to frigid tundra at the other.

“How long have you been here?” Michael asked upon losing count of the different species of wildlife roaming around.

“The bombs fell almost two years ago, and you were planning for three years before that… I’ve been here for about five years, then.” Five years. Time had moved quickly while she was occupied with her studies. Now it was time for it all to come to fruition. “They moved me from the safehouse in New England to the Sanctuary here in Italy as soon as you made yourself known.” 

They arrived at the far edge of the room and slipped through an archway to a dining hall. It was nowhere near as extravagant or embellished as the common rooms in the Sanctuary proper. The walls were unrefined and the same rough texture as the cavernous hidden stairway. The table was simple cherry wood surrounded by eight unimpressive matching chairs. One of the chairs was currently occupied. Michael tensed at the unexpected guest. He had been under the impression the three of them would be alone to converse leisurely.

“This is Aldair. You might recognize him from this morning. He is the High Priest in charge of my instruction in Neopaganism, which I’ve honestly found to be some of the most useful. The focus on nature has been very beneficial. He’s acting as my chaperone this evening.” The man stood to greet them, his wavy chestnut hair slipping into his olive eyes for a moment when he bowed, and he smiled brightly when turning to face his divine lady. His close cropped beard glinted in the dim light from the large fireplace and tall candelabras as he moved to pull out her chair. 

She sat to Michael’s left so that Ms. Mead could remain at Michael’s right hand as he took the seat at the head of the table. Aldair made his way around to hold Ms. Mead’s chair out for her as well and gave her one last courteous bow when she was seated. The domes over their plates disappeared with a quick wave of the Divinity’s hand, and revealed lightly steaming fillets and baked vegetables in a sweet and savory glaze. There seemed to be an absence of meat on her plate, and a wider range of vegetables and grilled fruits took its place.

“I hope that you will find the meal to your liking. Everything is fresh from today. Please, enjoy yourselves, and feel free to ask anything you like. I’m sure you must have a lot of questions, and we can speak freely in front of Aldair. He’s considered a close friend.” She reached over and gently squeezed the high priest’s hand with an affectionate smile before returning to her meal. Michael’s shoulders immediately straightened at the display. Close friend? Discreetly, his icy eyes narrowed and he stared at the man with every intention of reaching into the deepest, most secluded corners of the man’s mind.

“Mmm, this is delicious,” Ms. Mead chimed after finishing a piece of the fillet and subsequently broke Michael’s concentration. “What is this?” The smirk that tugged at the other woman’s lips was nothing short of mischievous in conjunction with the gleam in her resin eyes.

“It’s venison,” she replied, and took a bite of her own food. Michael’s lips stretched tightly over his mouth in an attempt to hide his amusement at the slight cough from Ms. Mead. “I’m glad that you find it satisfying.”

“You said that you are open to any line of questioning?” Michael received a nod from the raven-haired woman on his left. “If you have been here for so long, and known who I am, why haven’t we been introduced? Santori gave his explanation. Now I want to know  _ your _ truth.” She nodded again and politely wiped her mouth with her napkin. Michael’s eyes bore into hers with the same fire he’d used when conducting interviews months ago; however, he found her to be frustratingly unreadable as his glare unfocused.

“Honestly, I’ve been given the same reasoning as you. We needed time to develop our powers individually. You had a purpose to fulfil far sooner than I did, and they didn’t want to cause any distractions for you. Since the Apocalypse has begun, your abilities have grown tenfold. As you grow stronger, so do I. Now, the only way for us to increase our abilities is together.”

_ As you grow stronger, so do I _ . A surge of recognition forced him to genuinely focus his eyes on her and found her gaze already upon him. The same satisfied smirk graced her lips as it had this morning. The words, and the sensations they conjured within him, were more than familiar.

“Are you involved with the Cooperative?” Her smirk grew wider by a fraction.

“Yes. I receive all communications sent to and from the Cooperative. I also helped draft some of the Outpost Construction Plans, picked the location for and designed many areas of the Sanctuary, and worked with Research and Development on sustainability and resources.” So she’d been involved all along. He’s probably been in direct communication with her at some point and hadn’t even realized.

“You know Jeff and Mutt?”

“Oh yes,” she chuckled lightly at the mention of the coke-addled geniuses. “They’ve been working on something for me for a little while. I haven’t been in to see their progress lately, actually.” There was a brief moment of silence where her thoughts on the project took up her attention before she caught the others still waiting for further elaboration. “Of course, they don’t know who I am exactly. My credentials and my email are under a pseudonym, for obvious reasons.”

“You really do not have a name?” Michael crossed his arms and leaned against the table to watch for any flicker of emotion or tell for a lie. He was skeptical at best, and she could tell.

“I do not. My mother--she was a nun--was told not to name me, not to get too attached, because I was ‘a sin’.” She rolled her eyes as she made quotation marks with her fingers. “It’s amazing how people who call themselves believers seek to invalidate something genuine when it doesn’t fit exactly into their archetypes.” Michael hummed and smiled in reminiscence. He knew very well how those of a faith could quickly turn on their own when not precisely conforming to a given image. “I went from the convent straight into the care of my court. There was never much time spent with one person to charge with the task of naming.” Her indifference surprised him for a moment, though he supposed this had always been her reality and was simply considered normal. He leaned his chin on the back of his hand and let his gaze slide over her form.

“And so that responsibility falls to me.”

“You and I are expected to form a bond, so I suppose they decided it would be an ideal start to the bonding process if you chose.” Once again, there was the feeling of receiving a pet instead of a colleague or partner. Michael leaned back to swallow a mouthful of food and watched her push a forkful around on her plate.

“Are there any names that you like?” How was he supposed to choose a name for someone he didn’t even know? She smiled sadly and shook her head.

“Not really. I’ve never thought of names in that way since I knew it wouldn’t be my choice.” Michael frowned and titled his head to watch her. He had anticipated utilizing some of the “Cooperating” techniques when presented with the opportunity to seek his answers, and now the hardened façade he’d prepared was once again crumbling despite himself.

“It could be your choice. If you wanted it to be.” A slim hand reached across the table and clasped his loosely. He found that he had no interest in pulling away, and he rather enjoyed the gentle coolness and pulse of contentment she emitted.

“I appreciate that. I do. To be honest, I’m excited to see what you come up with. It would be quite special to receive my name from my king” She mimicked his inquisitive head tilt and squeezed his hand softly. “I trust you.” The words were nothing but the truth. Michael felt a sense of pride. And a sudden impending pressure to do right by this person that had granted him her trust. It felt like such a strange word after years of receiving worship. Was that considered any form of trust? His fingers inadvertently returned her gentle grasp.

“I believe it would be in both of our best interests to leave that for a time once we are more well acquainted. If we are truly to be equals, your name should be as meaningful as your purpose. Not something derived from impulse.” 

She positively beamed. An unlikely someone was showing her respect and consideration, let alone acknowledgement of her role, that sometimes even her own procession lacked. Michael’s chest swelled in triumph at her pleased reaction. Compassion and flattery earned far greater rewards than hostility and impatience, after all, and that was something Michael knew all too well.


End file.
